


Roped In

by Huntress79, TooManyBattles (Skarabrae_stone)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, Multi, Pining, Polyamory, Rock Climbing, Traveling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29086593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/pseuds/Huntress79, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skarabrae_stone/pseuds/TooManyBattles
Summary: It’s not that Bucky doesn’t like adventures; he does. But every time Steve or Sam convince him to go along with them, something goes wrong-- from getting caught in a riptide to spraining his ankle, to the accident that Bucky and Steve never talk about. It doesn't help that he's been hopelessly pining after both of them for years, and trips together mean playing third-wheel to their happy couple.When Sam and Steve invite him on a once-in-a-lifetime climbing trip to Greece, Bucky decides to give adventure one more try.Will Bucky be able to break his unlucky streak? And will he be able to keep his crush a secret?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> From Skarabrae_stone: This was my first MRBB, and I'm so excited to share this fic with you all! Thanks to the mods for organizing this, Ohstars for beta-ing, and thanks to Huntress79 for coming up with this premise and providing fantastic art!  
> I've included a glossary of climbing terms in the end notes, for anyone who's unfamiliar with climbing.  
> Comments are much appreciated!
> 
> And here's Huntress: First and foremost, thank you Aly, for picking up my prompt, writing such a stunning story AND being as patient as you have been over the course of this bang! *hugs*  
> Artpost: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132964

[ ](https://imgbox.com/NSA7CygY)

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[ ](https://images2.imgbox.com/35/74/JCc0Ye8O_o.png)

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“No. Absolutely not,” says Bucky, folding his arms. “You’re not pulling me into another one of your insane adventures.”

“Aw, come on, Bucky,” Steve says. “It’ll be fun!”

“This won’t be like the other times,” adds Sam. “It’s just rock climbing, you’re good at climbing… and Steve’ll be leading the whole time anyway, you won’t have to do any of the hard parts.”

“And we need you to belay. Sam’s gotta take pictures, he can’t belay and hold the camera at the same time—”

“Get Clint to do it,” Bucky says, carefully avoiding Steve’s big blue eyes and hopeful expression. “Or Natasha.”

“Clint broke his arm again,” Steve responds immediately. “And Nat’s in Japan until November, you know that.”

“Anyway, we want _you_ ,” says Sam, and now _he’s_ looking at Bucky with pleading eyes, and it’s _not fair._

It’s not fair that Steve and Sam know exactly how to get Bucky to do something; it’s not fair that Bucky can’t help but melt a little at them wanting _him_ , even if it’s not in the way he wants. And it’s totally unfair that all it ever takes is a few words and beseeching looks from them, and all his defenses crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.

“It wouldn’t be the same with someone else,” Sam continues. He ducks his head, looking up at Bucky through dark lashes. “And we’ll have a few days free at the end of the trip—we can go visit museums, architecture… Crete’s got a ton of history…”

“The Minoan palace at Knossos,” Bucky says, almost against his will. “And the Heraklion Museum.”

“Anything you want, Buck,” says Steve, sensing weakness. “The last three days of the trip are yours—we can look at all the pottery and—and ruins and statues and things you want.”

“Aren’t you curious to see it?” Sam presses. “You’ve read every single translation of _The Odyssey_ , but you’ve never even been there.”

“ _The Odyssey_ wasn’t about Crete,” Bucky says, but it’s half-hearted. He’s beaten, and he knows it.

Steve and Sam know it, too; they’re both smiling, eyes sparkling, and Bucky’s doomed. He’ll do whatever it takes to get them to look at him like that.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh. “But if this turns into another disaster, I’m never going on one of your excursions again. And this time, I mean it.”

§

It’s not that Bucky doesn’t like adventures; he does. But every time Steve or Sam convince him to go along with them, something happens. There was the time he went whitewater rafting with them, and the raft flipped; Sam framed the picture he took of the moment just before it happened, the hole opening up beneath their bow, the raft standing almost vertical, and the white canyon of foam rising up to meet them. There was camping with Steve, when they got flooded out in the middle of the night (“It’s just a little rain, Buck, we’ll be fine,” Steve had insisted before they went). Sea-kayaking, when Bucky had been caught in a riptide and had to be rescued; the backpacking trip with Sam, where Sam had led them straight into a swamp on the first day; the skiing excursion where Bucky had sprained his ankle; and then, of course, there was the trip that he and Steve never talk about if they can help it….

Bucky doesn’t exactly _blame_ the other two, although one or both of them are responsible for the mishap more often than not—it’s just that experience has taught him that things _never_ go to plan when he accompanies them. Part of it is bad luck, and part is the fact that Steve and Sam—both experienced outdoorsmen—tend to forget Bucky’s limitations, or brush off as “inconveniences” problems which ruin Bucky’s entire week. And part of it is that Steve and Sam are incorrigible adrenaline junkies, and Bucky… is not.

And then, of course, there’s the other issue: going on a trip with Sam and Steve means getting to spend time with them, yes, but it also means playing third wheel to their deeply in-love couple. And while it’s not like they flaunt it or anything, it’s clear how happy they are together, how attuned they are to each other, how _perfect_ they are for each other, and sometimes, Bucky can hardly stand it.

He’s happy for them. Truly, he is. But he’s been in love with Steve since they were teenagers, and with Sam since… probably a year or so after Sam and Steve started dating. Bucky has tried to move on, tried to date other people, but somehow, he’s never been able to get over his stupid crush.

Pining for his best friend for thirteen years is pathetic. Pining for his best friend _and_ his best friend’s boyfriend… well, that’s just stupid.

And now he’s going to be spending two weeks in Greece with the pair of them. Bucky doesn’t know how he’s going to survive.


	2. On Belay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Climbing terms are explained in the chapter end notes.

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[ ](https://images2.imgbox.com/7a/89/lptMd08B_o.png)

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To Bucky’s surprise, the first few days of climbing go relatively smoothly. Steve’s been hired by Black Diamond to test some of their new gear in an outdoor setting, which dovetailed neatly with a spread _Climbing Magazine_ wanted Sam to do on climbing opportunities in Crete.

They’re accompanied by a couple of local climbers whom Steve had made friends with on a previous trip, and Bucky finds himself wondering why exactly Steve and Sam had been so insistent that he come—Steve’s Greek friends are perfectly capable of belaying, and all of them are better climbers than Bucky.

“Looks like you didn’t need me after all,” Bucky says to Sam, only half-joking, while they take a lunch break on their second day. Steve’s a little speck up at the top of the cliffs, with one of the Greek climbers, Christina, belaying him from a ledge about halfway up. “You’ve got plenty of company here.”

Sam gives him a sideways look he can’t decipher. “Maybe we wanted an excuse to bring you along.”

Bucky’s heart gives a painful little flutter, which he tries to quash immediately. Sam and Steve are his _friends_ , his _best_ friends; of course they like it when he does stuff with them. It has nothing to do with any sort of romantic feelings on their part. “Never miss out on a chance to make my life difficult, huh,” he says, trying for a joke, but he knows as the words leave his mouth that the tone is all wrong.

Sure enough, Sam’s brows draw together, his expression turning worried. “Is this really awful for you?” he asks. “I thought you were just kicking up a fuss for the sake of it, but if you hate this, you don’t have to keep us company. You can go back to Heraklion, see the museums…”

“No!” says Bucky, alarmed. As difficult as it sometimes is to always be the outsider looking in on Sam and Steve’s relationship, wandering around a foreign city without them would be far worse. Besides, he _is_ actually having fun with the climbing thing, even if he’s not as skilled as the rest of them. “No, I’m having fun, I was just teasing.”

Sam looks relieved. “Okay, good.”

“Yeah, no, I’m good here,” Bucky reassures him, and smiles. “I haven’t fallen off a cliff yet, or anything.”

“Don’t jinx it,” says Sam, laughing. “We’ve still got another week to get through.”

§

The week goes by, and disaster still fails to strike, if you don’t count the bumps, scrapes, and bruises that are part of the territory of climbing. Bucky makes it up a 5.10 route, a personal best, and the huge smile on Steve’s face makes him feel like he’s conquered the world.

He has, maybe, been putting in a bit more time at the local climbing gym over the past few months, hoping to avoid disgracing himself in front of Steve and Sam ( _not,_ despite what his sister says, to _impress_ anyone—Steve regularly climbs 5.14s, and Sam is solidly in the 5.11 range; neither of them are going to be impressed by anything Bucky can do). And Steve _isn’t_ impressed, not really, but he’s _proud_ , and that might be even better. Or worse— when Steve’s face lights up like that, it’s harder than ever for Bucky to keep his own feelings from spilling over.

Sam gets a shot of Bucky mantling an overhang, a move he’s had to learn to do with most of his weight on his right arm, since his left doesn’t always play nice.

“I knew you could do it,” he says warmly, throwing his arm around Bucky’s shoulders in a quick half-hug, and Bucky feels himself go scarlet.

§

On what’s supposed to be their second-to-last day of climbing, it pours, making it impossible to go ahead with their plans. To Bucky’s surprise, Sam and Steve don’t seem overly disappointed.

“We can get a head-start on some of those museums,” says Steve. “Where do you wanna go first, Buck?”

“There’s a contemporary art museum in Rethymnon,” Bucky says, and is rewarded when the other two perk up.

Back when they were kids, when Steve had been skinny and sickly and Bucky had been the strong, athletic one, Steve had loved to draw. He’d asked for art supplies or art books for just about every birthday and holiday, and he and Bucky had spent hours wandering the Met on weekends, taking shameless advantage of the negotiable admission prices. After the experimental drug trial that had cured the most serious of Steve’s ailments, he had fallen in love with climbing, but he still draws for fun, and he still has a weakness for art museums.

Sam actually majored in art in college—he and Steve had first met in a figure-drawing class—and Bucky knows that he usually manages to find some out-of-the-way gallery or installation in whatever city he’s traveling to. His apartment is full of paintings, prints, and photographs from all over the world; whenever he and Steve move in together, they’re going to have a hard time finding enough wall-space to hang their combined collection.

“You want to?” Sam asks eagerly, and Bucky suppresses a smile.

“Yeah, of course. It’ll be cool to check out some local artists.” Bucky pauses. “Well, local artists that haven’t been dead for two thousand years.”

“And here’s me thinking you didn’t like anything more recent than the Romans,” says Steve, grinning.

“I can appreciate modern stuff, I just don’t know anything about it.”

“And by modern, you mean anything less than five hundred years old.”

Bucky sniffs. “Fifteen hundred, actually. And that’s pushing it—the Roman empire started disintegrating well before that.”

“You’re such a snob,” says Sam fondly.

“Excuse me, _you’re_ the one who went on a twenty-minute rant about how David Hockney is overrated the last time we went to a bar together.”

“Well, he is,” says Sam, folding his arms. “That’s not snobbery, it’s just facing up to the facts.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t point fingers about who’s the biggest art snob,” says Steve, sounding amused. “I have a feeling it’ll just be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

§

Bucky likes art, although he can’t say he really _gets_ a lot of the abstract stuff; he prefers pieces that tell some kind of story, or that represent something tangible. When it becomes clear that Steve and Sam are going to want to stop and examine and discuss every painting in a gallery of abstract artworks, Bucky leaves them behind. He does a quick tour of the gallery—enough to get the impression of bold, contrasting colors and interesting shapes—and then finds a bench to sit on.

Truthfully, he’s glad of the chance to rest. His muscles are definitely feeling the strenuous activity of the past few days, and his left arm aches a little from the rain. He rubs at his shoulder, trying to loosen the tension there, gaze fixed on the sculpture in front of him. It looks like an explosion of wires, and he wonders absently if someone just took an axe to their DVD player, or if it’s supposed to mean something profound.

“You okay?” Sam’s voice comes from right behind him, making him jump.

“Yeah, just…”

“Sore?” says Sam sympathetically, sitting next to him. “We’ve worked you hard, the past week.”

Bucky nods, unsure what to say. Sam knows he injured his left arm, but doesn’t know the details. He’s certainly never seen the extent of the scarring, as Bucky doesn’t let anyone see his bare arm if he can help it. And although he wouldn’t be opposed to telling Sam at some point, it’s a painful enough memory that he doesn’t want to get into it right now.

“It aches when it rains,” he offers at last, a little awkwardly. “And I guess this week has been a bit more of a workout than I’m used to.”

“Yeah, you’ve been doing really well,” says Sam warmly. “We knew you would, but I’m still impressed. That 5.10 wasn’t easy.”

Bucky blushes, pleased at the compliment and grateful that Sam is changing the subject. “It’s been pretty great,” he admits. “I’m glad that it worked out for me to go.”

“Yeah, me too. It wouldn’t have been anywhere near as fun if you hadn’t come.”

“It’s lucky you scheduled this for when you did,” says Bucky. “If it was right before midterms I couldn’t have gone, but this week is October break, so I only needed a week off from work.”

Sam gives him a funny look. “Lucky,” he echoes, sounding almost incredulous; it’s the tone he uses when he thinks someone is being unbelievably stupid.

A little prickle of anxiety pierces Bucky’s heart. “Did you… I mean, I thought you wanted me to come,” he says, wincing at how uncertain he sounds.

“What?” says Sam, and then, “No, Bucky—I mean, it wasn’t _luck._ We told you we wanted you to come—we wouldn’t have planned it for a time you couldn’t get away.”

“But,” Bucky starts, then stops. “You looked up my schedule?”

Sam chuckles. “Not exactly. Steve called the library director—”

“Steve called my _boss?_ ” he yelps. His boss is _terrifying._

“Yeah, he gave her a whole speech about how this was an amazing opportunity for you, it would help you with your research, did she know you’d never been to Greece? Yada yada. You know how convincing Steve can be.”

“Uh,” says Bucky, dazed.

“Anyway, she seemed more amused than anything else, but she told him when would be the best time for you to take time off during the semester. She didn’t mention it to you?”

“No,” he says numbly. “She just gave me the time off when I asked about it.” He thinks back to the interaction. “She _did_ seem kind of… amused? I guess? But she’s always been a bit… enigmatic.” He shakes his head, half amused and half horrified. “I can’t believe you guys did that!”

“Should we not have?” Sam asks. “We didn’t mean to overstep, but…”

Bucky shakes his head again. “No… I don’t know. I guess it’s alright. I just—”

“Just what?”

“I can’t believe you went to all that trouble, just so I could go with you! I mean, you… you…”

“We wanted you to come with us,” says Sam quietly. He looks almost… wary, like he’s not sure of Bucky’s reaction. “We always want you to come with us, Bucky.”

Bucky swallows, and looks away, pulse beating a little too rapidly. “Well, you know me,” he says, mouth dry. “Always up for an adventure.”

Sam laughs at that, and then Steve’s coming over, asking if they’re ready to go on to the next gallery, and Sam’s teasing him about taking so long, and Bucky uses the distraction to compose himself.

 _He didn’t mean it like that,_ he thinks, as Sam steals a quick kiss and Steve reels him back in for another one. _They’re not for you_.

“Come on, Buck.” Steve drapes one arm over Bucky’s shoulders, and the other over Sam’s, pulling them close. “Last gallery, and then we’ll get lunch.”

“Get off me, you big cretin,” says Bucky affectionately. “It’s been ten years, you don’t gotta show off your height every damn chance you get.”

“I’ve only been six foot for eight years,” Steve corrects. “And you had twenty to be taller than me, so I’m still making up for lost time.”

“I thought you only met when you were six?” asks Sam, confused.

“Yeah, but there’s no way I was taller than him before that,” Steve says cheerfully, steering them into the next room. “So it still counts.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky grumbles. But he doesn’t pull away.

§

That evening at dinner, Steve says, “Hey, Buck, I had an idea.”

“That’s not a good sign,” Bucky quips. He’s smiling though, warm and relaxed after a couple of glasses of Assyrtico, the local white wine.

“I—we were wondering…” Steve hesitates, fiddling with his own glass; he’d opted for blood-orange juice, as he can’t mix alcohol with his medication. “Sam’s got all the photos he needs, and I’ve tested out the gear pretty thoroughly. I thought, maybe instead of climbing tomorrow, you might want to go for a hike?”

Bucky mulls it over, surprised and a little touched. Sam must have mentioned that his arm was hurting—that, or Steve had noticed himself—and the two of them must have realized that Bucky might not be up for climbing tomorrow. It’s sweet, and thoughtful, for them to offer him this out without presenting it as an out.

“Is that what you want to do?” he asks.

Steve nods. “It’s been fun hanging out with the others, but I thought it might be nice to do something just the three of us. There’s a trail in the Samaria Gorge Park that’s supposed to be—well, gorgeous—” Sam and Bucky both groan at the pun—“and it shouldn’t be as crowded as the _actual_ Samaria Gorge. I thought it might be cool to check it out.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Sam adds hastily. “But—”

“No, that sounds fun. How long is the trail?”

“About eight miles, altogether—the gorge part is maybe five? You take a bus to the trailhead, and then you walk to the end and there’s a village where you can get the ferry back to Heraklion.”

“So we’d, what, check into the hotel in the morning, park the rental someplace, and then catch the bus?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” says Steve eagerly. “We can pack a lunch, take all day.”

“Well, as long as the rain stops by tomorrow,” Bucky says, glancing at the water still pouring off the eaves outside. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good,” says Steve, beaming, and Bucky has to look away, lest his own smile say too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky works at the NYU Institute for the Study of the Ancient World Library. I kinda made up his position, though.  
> Climbing Terms:  
> 5.10, 5.11, etc: a system for rating the difficulty of various climbing routes, also known as the Yosemite Decimal System. Technical climbs range from 5.0 (the easiest) to 5.15 (the hardest climbs in the world). After 5.10, the climbs have a letter range from a to d as well as a number range, i.e. 5.10a, 5.10b, etc.  
> Belay: a rope and pulley system used to keep a climber safe from falling  
> Mantle: A somewhat difficult climbing move in which the climber presses their hands down on a ledge to push themselves over the top of an overhang.


	3. Climb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Climbing terms in the chapter end notes.

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[ ](https://images2.imgbox.com/37/a3/fXbXMGQg_o.png)

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The next morning dawns clear and sunny, and by mid-morning, the three of them are on the trail. It’s not an easy hike; they have to scramble over boulders and logs, and the trail is often steep and rocky.

For the first few miles, the trail winds through a wooded valley, waterfalls occasionally spilling like white ribbons through the trees. Then they descend into the gorge itself, the sharp white ridges rising above them, while nearer to hand they can see layer upon layer of rock exposed, as though it's been sliced through with a knife. In some places, the bedrock has tilted, creating diagonal lines of rock in varying shades of white and yellow and orange; in others, the stone has somehow twisted around on itself in waves and pinwheels; and in still others, the water has eroded the rock into abstract carvings, making Bucky think of Gothic cathedrals and neolithic monuments. The river is their constant companion, winding next to the trail or beneath the frequent wooden bridges; birds chatter in the trees and swoop low over the water; and in every cranny grow wildflowers, cyclamen and narcissus and squill, and other blooms that none of them can identify.

It is, in short, breathtaking, and Bucky can’t blame Sam for stopping every few yards to take pictures, even if he can’t help teasing him about it.

“Come on, Sam, if we stop for every interesting rock, we’ll never make it out of here.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when we’re back in New York,” says Sam. “It’ll be all, ‘Sam, did you get pictures of this? Did you get pictures of that? How will I remember without photographic evidence?’”

“I don’t think I could ever forget this,” Bucky says, but he doesn’t attempt to move Sam along. They’ve got all day; they might as well enjoy it.

They stop to eat lunch in a shady spot beside another waterfall, congratulating themselves on managing to be the only tourists there. The few people they’d seen at the beginning of the trail have turned back, and they have the gorge all to themselves.

“This may be one of the best ideas you’ve ever had,” Bucky tells Steve, and to his surprise and amusement, Steve flushes right to the tips of his ears.

By late afternoon, the shadows have lengthened considerably; the gorge is narrow enough that it only gets a few hours of full sunlight, when the sun is directly overhead. The three of them pick up their pace by unspoken agreement; they don’t want to risk missing the ferry, and they’re still a couple of miles from the end of the trail.

The water grows higher as they go, drawing nearly level with the bridges they have to cross on.

“The rain last night must have raised the water,” Sam remarks. “Either that, or there’s something blocking it downstream—maybe a log or something.”

“As long as we don’t get our feet wet, I’m happy,” says Bucky.

Steve gives him a mischievous grin. “If it comes to that, I’ll carry you. Can’t have you getting wet feet!”

“My hero,” Bucky deadpans, and the others laugh. Still he, picks his way carefully; all jokes aside, he does _not_ want to have to complete the hike with wet socks.

As they round the next bend, Steve stops dead, causing Bucky to bump into him. Sam grabs Bucky’s arm before he can lose his balance, and the two of them step forward to see what the problem is.

Up ahead, a large section of the canyon wall has fallen, blocking their way with a mound of rubble, mud, trees, and boulders at least thirty feet high.

Bucky’s hands start shaking as he stares at the landslide. It’s clearly recent; the leaves on the trees are still green. To their left, the top of the cliff has been sheered away, leaving a gaping scar in its place.

“It must have come down with all that rain yesterday,” Steve says. He sounds far away, his voice echoing strangely in Bucky’s ears. “That’s why the water’s all backed up.”

His pulse is hammering loud enough to drown out their voices, and all he can see is the rocks falling down, crushing them, burying them— _cold, snow, the ground dropping away from him, debris raining down on him—_

“We need to go,” he hears himself say. “Come on, before more comes down—”

“It’s probably—” starts Steve, then catches sight of Bucky’s face, and his expression changes. “Okay, Buck, we’ll go.”

“Where exactly are we gonna go?” Sam asks, as they hurry away from the landslide. “It took us six hours to get here, we can’t go all the way back before nightfall.”

“We can walk in the dark—”

“It’s supposed to rain again tonight. What if there’s another mudslide?”

“D-don’t say that,” pleads Bucky, trying desperately to stay calm. “Steve, we gotta get out of here.”

“I know, Buck, we will. We will. Let’s sit down for a second and just think this through,” says Steve, herding Sam and Bucky over to a convenient boulder. “Let’s just be calm about this, okay?”

“F-fuck you, I’m calm,” says Bucky, shivering uncontrollably.

Sam gives him a concerned look, and takes his hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the ridge of Bucky’s knuckles. “Steve, grab him a chocolate bar, will you?”

Steve unzips his pack, crouching down to rummage through it. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck, we’ll figure this out.”

“Stop babying me,” Bucky snaps, maintaining a death grip on Sam’s hand. “You’re not the one who—who—” He breaks off, feeling horribly guilty, as Steve blanches.

“How about you eat some chocolate,” says Steve evenly. His face has gone completely white.

Bucky takes the offered chocolate bar, throat tight with anxiety and remorse. “I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay,” says Steve, almost inaudibly. “My fault.”

Bucky closes his eyes. He doesn’t, in all honesty, remember it very clearly; the memories have been blurred by pain and shock. But he remembers the ground giving way beneath his feet, and Steve screaming his name, and he remembers the cold air rushing past him as he fell.

The other two are quiet, and he’s shamefully, guiltily grateful for it; it allows him to concentrate on breathing, on pushing the memories to the back of his mind where they belong. He wishes he hadn’t said that to Steve; he wants to make it better, but all the words seem to stick in his throat.

He opens his eyes and takes a gulp of water, avoiding their gaze. It’s bad enough that he freaked out about the landslide, but then he had to go and snap at Steve, too.

“Okay,” Steve says finally, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Okay, we need to decide what we’re going to do.”

“We can’t stay here,” says Sam. “If it rains, we could get flooded out, or there could be another landslide.”

“Even if we could go back to higher ground—”

“Then we still have to worry about landslides,” Sam finishes. “We need to get all the way out.”

“It’s six miles back, we’ll never make it before dark—”

“And it’s treacherous footing, even with flashlights.” Sam hesitates. “Could we climb over the landslide…?”

“No,” Bucky says immediately, feeling another spike of panic. “No, if it moves—”

“Buck’s right, Sam,” says Steve with a sigh. “It’s probably still unstable, we can’t risk it.”

“Then… what do we do?” Bucky demands. “If we can’t stay here, and we can’t go back?”

“We’ll start walking back,” Steve decides. “Maybe there’s a spot we can climb up and get out somewhere.”

Privately, Bucky thinks it’s unlikely, and he can tell from Sam’s expression that he does, too—but neither of them have any better ideas, so they agree.

After a quick snack, they don their backpacks again, and head back the way they came.

As they walk, Bucky can’t help returning to the landslide again and again in his mind, a slide so recent that the leaves on the broken branches had barely wilted. It’s sheer luck that they weren’t there when it came down, luck that they weren’t walking along the top of the gorge, where the ground is doubtless still unstable—sheer good luck, as capricious and unpredictable as the luck that had turned against them the day that Bucky fell.

It had been Steve’s idea to take that hike, yes, but it wasn’t his fault that the path had eroded the way it had, or that the snow had disguised it. It wasn’t his fault that Bucky had been in the lead at that moment. And after Bucky fell, it had been Steve who carried him out of the ravine….

They’ve been going about fifteen minutes when Sam pauses, staring at the ridge along one side of the gorge.

“What is it?” Bucky asks. “Is it another landslide?”

“No,” Sam says slowly. “I think… isn’t that a road up there?”

He looks, but can’t immediately see anything. “Where?”

“Right there, see? Isn’t that a guardrail?” Sam points upward, and finally Bucky catches a gleam of sun on metal.

“It is,” says Steve, in a tone of restrained excitement. “Sam, you’re right, it is! If we can get up there…”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” asks Bucky skeptically. “It’s still seventy feet up.”

“Sixty,” Steve counters. “And I brought a rope with me.”

Bucky and Sam both stare at him in mingled amusement and resignation.

“Of course you did,” says Sam, shaking his head. “Okay, did you actually bring enough for us to get up there?”

“I brought about fifty feet,” Steve says. “So we’d need to do it in stages. And I’ve only got one harness, so we’ll have to do emergency belays. But I do have friends and biners, so… I think we can make it work.”

Bucky stares up at the sheer, unforgiving cliff face, and swallows. “Here?”

Steve gives it a considering look, then shakes his head. “I think we can find a better spot. Let’s keep going.”

“Just as long as we don’t lose the road,” Sam says.

“That can be your job, Sam,” says Steve good-humoredly. “We’ll trust your eagle eye.”

They keep walking, all three of them now scanning the cliffs for any sign of a way up, and keeping an eye on the thin gleam of the guardrail still visible along the edge of the gorge.

At last, Steve finds a spot he deems suitable; there’s a broad ledge about twenty feet up, and the rock is craggy enough to offer a fairly straightforward route to the top.

Bucky eyes it dubiously. “Are you sure it’s safe? If it’s not stable—”

“I don’t know if it’s perfectly safe,” says Steve, putting a hand against the side of the cliff. “But it feels solid; I’m not seeing anything crumbling or flaking off. The place where the landslide was, you could see where the river had undercut the cliff, and it looked like there was runoff up top. But here, the river bends the other way—it’s actually pushing soil _toward_ this face, not eroding away from it. And I don’t see any sign of runoff from above.” He turns to look at them, face serious. “It’s not ideal, because it _is_ an unknown, but—I think this is our best option.”

There’s a pause, and Bucky realizes that the other two are looking at him—waiting for his verdict. He swallows.

“Okay,” he says. “I trust your judgement.”

Steve looks at him, blue eyes hopeful and questioning, and Bucky steels himself.

He _does_ trust Steve’s judgement, but as he well knows, accidents can happen. And he doesn’t want to start this climb without clearing the air between them.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says softly. “Me falling, I mean.”

He registers the surprise on Steve’s face, and feels another stab of guilt: this is the first time he has said those words out loud. “It was just bad luck, Steve. It could have happened to anyone.”

“But it happened to you.”

“Steve… it’s okay.” Bucky touches his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should have said this years ago, but I—didn’t want to talk about it. And it was easier to blame you than to admit that—that it was just random. That random bad shit happens and—” he glances in the direction of the landslide, obscured, now, by the curves of the canyon— “and that it could happen again.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tips forward to rest his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder, clutching the back of Bucky’s shirt with one hand. His deep, shuddering breaths are clearly audible, the long inhales and exhales that Bucky knows are his attempt to calm himself.

“You were caught in a landslide?” Sam asks gently. He comes to stand next to Bucky, wrapping his arm around him, and laying his other hand on Steve’s hip.

“Not exactly,” Bucky says, leaning into him and tightening his grip on Steve. “The ground went out from underneath me. Fell into a ravine, about twenty feet down. A bunch of rocks landed on top of me, pinned me.” He pushes away the memory of it, of screaming for Steve, of being unable to move, watching his own blood stain the snow around him. “That’s why my arm is so fucked up.”

“It was during winter break,” says Steve, his voice muffled by Bucky’s shirt. “Freshman year of college.”

“Oh.” Sam is quiet for a while, a warm bulwark at Bucky’s side. “That’s pretty awful.”

Bucky barks a hoarse laugh. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

There’s another pause, while Bucky leans against Sam and rubs Steve’s back, feeling himself relax a bit under the influence of their presence.

 _It’s not going to be like last time,_ he tells himself firmly. _We’ll get out of this, one way or another._

“We should get started,” Sam says at last, quietly.

Steve sighs, then nods, and pulls away. “Okay. Let’s set up the belay.”

Steve just has the one harness, so they create a makeshift harness out of a long sling and a carabiner, with the idea that whoever’s climbing will wear the real harness, and whoever belays will get the sling. Steve shows them how to tie a Munter hitch, which will serve as a substitute for an actual belay device.

“You brought slings and friends, but not an ATC?” Sam asks judgmentally, folding his arms.

Steve grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “In my defense, I wasn’t really planning on climbing today. I just figured, if we saw a good bouldering spot…”

“And?”

“And I thought it would be fun to try it old-school. I wasn’t expecting _this._ ”

Sam rolls his eyes, but can’t quite hide his fond expression. “The Steve Rogers method: Always be prepared, but not _too_ prepared, because where’s the fun in that?”

“ _See?_ ” Bucky says, feeling vindicated. “That’s _exactly_ what I mean!”

“I do want to reiterate that I was not expecting to have to climb up the side of the gorge today,” says Steve, but he’s smiling, too. “C’mon, Sam, put that sling on, let’s get a move on.”

Sam dons the makeshift harness, and takes his position at the base of the cliff, hands loose on the rope running through the carabiner of his makeshift harness. “Ready when you are.”

“On belay?” asks Steve, tugging at the figure-eight knot on his end of the rope.

“Belay’s on.”

“Climbing.”

“Climb away.”

Steve gets a foothold, tests a couple handholds, and then… transforms. It’s the only way Bucky can describe it, really; on the ground, Steve is athletic and strong, careful in his movements and endearingly awkward in most social situations. On the rock, he becomes something more: graceful and controlled, completely aware of his body and supremely confident in what he can achieve with it, in balance with himself and his environment. He scales the wall as if it’s his natural element, as though he was born for it.

Even in these less-than-ideal circumstances, Bucky can’t help admiring the quick, graceful way he scales the cliff, pausing only to test the sturdiness of the rocks before he puts his full weight on them.

 _He’s beautiful like this_ , Bucky thinks, and then shakes his head at himself. Steve would be gorgeous no matter what he was doing. And the thrill he gets from watching this isn’t just due to the poetry of Steve’s movements, or the way the muscles in his arms flex and shift—even ten years after the procedure that had, in all likelihood, saved Steve’s life, Bucky still can’t quite get over the fact that Steve is hale and healthy, that he can do things like this without batting an eye.

“I’m up!” Steve shouts, and Bucky realizes that Steve has reached the ledge he was aiming for while Bucky was woolgathering. He’s now about twenty feet above their heads, busily slotting an anchor into the crack just above the ledge. “Sam, give me a little slack, I’m going to anchor myself in up here!”

“Okay!” calls Sam, and feeds out another foot of rope.

“I’m gonna set this up as a top-rope,” Steve says. “You mind staying on belay-duty, Sam? Bucky can come up next, then I’ll belay you up.”

“That’s fine with me. Bucky?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Steve grins at them both, a flash of white teeth in his tanned face, then turns his back on them to mess with the belay system. Once it’s arranged to his satisfaction, he throws the harness down to Bucky, and Sam readjusts the Munter hitch to accommodate the new setup.

“You can take the anchors out on your way up, right, Buck?” Sam asks, and something in Bucky’s chest warms at Steve’s nickname for him on Sam’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he says, willing himself not to blush. “Yeah, I can handle that.”

“Good man.” Sam claps him on the shoulder, holding on for just a second longer than is strictly necessary, and Bucky’s face goes hot.

He manages to get himself ready for the climb, however, and lets Sam check his knots and buckles, just in case (and tries not to fixate on Sam’s clever, graceful fingers adjusting the harness, and tells himself that the way Sam’s hands smooth over his hips and thighs is nothing more than casual, because _Sam doesn’t see you like that, get it together, Barnes_ …).

“Okay, you’re good,” says Sam, stepping away. “You ready, Buck?”

Bucky swallows, but offers him a smile. “As I’ll ever be. Belay on?”

“Belay’s on.”

“Climbing.”

“Climb away.”

But Bucky doesn’t, not at first—he just stands there, hands on the rock, breathing deeply. Climbing doesn’t make him anxious—he’s got a healthy respect for heights, but they don’t really _scare_ him—but for some reason he always needs this moment before he starts, just a few seconds to gather himself. Maybe it’s his way of reminding his body that the rock is solid, that it won’t come crashing down on his head—or maybe it’s just the time it takes to get into the right headspace.

Either way, Sam and Steve are used to the little pause before he begins, and neither of them hassle him, just wait patiently until he raises his head, and begins to climb.

The route Steve has already traversed isn’t too hard—probably a 5.6 or 7, if Bucky had to guess—but Bucky is cautious anyway, painfully aware that if something goes wrong here, they’re a long, long way from help.

He stretches upward with his right arm, finds a solid crack for his fingers, and moves his left foot up. The rock is sedimentary here, which means there are tons of little horizontal cracks and ridges running along the face.

 _It’s almost like a ladder_ , Bucky thinks. _A really steep ladder, with teeny tiny rungs._ His feet are the least solid part of him, his heavy hiking boots a far cry from the climbing shoes he’d normally wear. More than once, his foot slips off a hold that he _knows_ would hold him if he had shoes on—the large toes and rubber soles just don’t have enough friction to keep him glued to the rock.

Still, the going isn’t too bad, and soon he’s taking out the first of Steve’s anchors, carefully clipping it to his harness before moving upward. Another six feet, and he reaches friend number-two; and a couple of moves later, he’s hauling himself onto the ledge, Steve’s hands reaching out to help him up.

“Nice job, Buck,” he says with a grin. “C’mere, get this sling around your waist, I’ll clip you in and then you can throw your harness down to Sam.”

“Give a guy a chance to catch his breath, huh?” Bucky grumbles, but he raises his arms all the same, letting Steve fasten the sling around his waist and clip it into one of the anchors he’s already placed in the narrow seam right above the ledge.

They throw the harness down to Sam, and Sam clips both the harness-sling and their backpacks to the end of the rope for Steve to haul up. Then Steve dons the sling, checks his anchors, and settles in to belay Sam from above.

This is far less riveting than watching Steve climb up, namely because Bucky can’t actually watch Sam. He’s sitting all the way back on the ledge, his back against the rock with his backpack on his lap, so he can’t see anything below them. The only clues he has to how Sam is doing are the occasional grunt or inhale as Sam exerts himself, and the taut rope that Steve draws in smoothly with his left hand, and lets fall in loose coils on his right.

He’s actually startled when there’s a gasp and a scraping sound from right below him, and Sam’s head suddenly pops up in front of him.

“Man,” says Sam, grinning up at him, “Get outta my way.”

Bucky laughs in relief, and scooches a few inches to the right to give Sam space.

After a short break to catch their breath, drink some water, and share a few handfuls of trail mix, they get ready to move upward again. It’s the same setup: Steve will lead, find a spot where they can set up another belay, and then the other two will follow.

Bucky belays this time, nervous in case he somehow screws something up, but Steve is as sure as ever, and soon makes it to a point about twenty or twenty-five feet above their heads.

He pauses, and Bucky cranes his neck to try and see what the holdup is. He knows Steve can’t get much further; with such a short rope, there just isn’t enough line left.

“Okay.” Steve’s voice echoes a little, bouncing off the rocks before reaching them. “So we’ve got a little bit of a… not a problem, it’s fine, we’ll just need to adjust.”

“Well, that’s not ominous,” Bucky mutters.

“You’re telling me,” says Sam. “What’s the not-problem, Steve?”

“I’ve got a ledge we can set up another anchor on, but it’s not really wide enough for all three of us. I think… yeah, you’re gonna have to climb up here, Sam, and then I’ll get you up to the top, and then come back for Bucky. Is that okay, Buck?”

“Uh… sure?” he calls back, uncertain. “I mean, yeah, if that’s what you think is best….”

“Yeah,” Steve returns, voice full of determination. “Yeah, because you’re already set up to belay, and if that’s one less thing we have to mess around with right this second…”

“Okay,” says Bucky, trying not to sound too worried about the prospect of being left here on this ledge, by himself, with no way to get up or down and no way to help if something should happen to them. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Sorry, I know it’s not ideal—”

“It’s fine,” says Bucky, with more conviction than he feels. “Let’s just do this, okay? Before we’re climbing in the dark.”

“Or the rain,” Sam puts in, nodding toward the west, and Bucky turns his head to see a line of clouds there, ominous purple and blue.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Sam tips his head back. “Steve, let’s get a move on, lower that harness down!”

“Okay, give me just a—okay, lowering!”

They repeat the process they’ve established, already quicker with it than before: Sam dons the harness, checks the knots, takes out his anchors and clips them to his harness, confirms that he’s on belay.

“Climbing.”

“Climb away.”

And Sam begins his ascent.

By the time Sam reaches Steve, dark clouds have covered the sky, and Bucky can see a haze of rain veiling the west. He changes out of the makeshift harness as quickly as possible, and clips it and Sam and Steve’s backpacks to the end of the rope for Steve to haul up.

The next part is the hardest, as Bucky has to wait. He can’t even see them all that well, due to the curve of the rock, and although he knows he couldn’t do anything for them regardless, somehow being unable to track their progress makes him feel even more helpless and alone.

It feels like a long, long time passes before he hears Steve’s shout of “I’m up!” and Sam’s answering whoop.

It begins to drizzle, just a fine, misting rain, and Bucky digs his fleece out of his bag. It won’t keep him from getting wet, but at least it’s better than nothing. He shivers and waits for word from above, painfully aware that every moment of delay will make the rocks more slippery, the climb more treacherous.

Finally, he hears Sam shout—he’s made it to the top. Then comes the next wait, while Steve rappels back down, and sets up the belay for Bucky.

“Rope!” he shouts, and Bucky covers his head as the rope slaps down next to him, the harness clipped to the end.

He grabs the harness, then clips his backpack on for Steve to haul up; by the time Steve lowers the rope again, Bucky is harnessed up and ready to go.

He climbs cautiously, the rock slick under his fingertips, and curses under his breath as his boots slide off their footholds, his fingers turning cold and clumsy. Every second he spends here makes the climb more dangerous, but he dare not go any faster; he can’t afford an injury, or the delay that falling would cause even if he doesn’t get hurt.

It’s with a heady feeling of relief that he finally hauls himself up onto the final ledge, and finds Steve waiting for him.

“All right, Buck?” he asks, reaching out a hand.

“Just peachy.” Bucky allows him to pull him onto the ledge, and leans back against the wall with a sigh. “Now we get to do it all again, huh?”

Steve gives him a sympathetic smile. “Afraid so. Sam left my anchors up, so at least that’ll be quicker this time around.”

“Oh, good. You want the harness?”

Steve shakes his head. “The sling should be okay—I’m more concerned with getting to the top before it _really_ starts raining.”

They both look up at the sky, which is getting darker by the minute, then at each other.

“Okay,” Bucky says. There isn’t much else to say. He clips into the anchors and ties the Munter hitch to his carabiner, while Steve ties his figure-eight.

“Alright, I’m ready,” says Bucky, and Steve nods, rises to a crouch, and then… hesitates.

They’re only a few inches apart on the ledge, and Steve gives him an oddly intent, almost expectant look, his lips parting slightly as though he’s just thought of something he wants to say. His eyes flick down to Bucky’s mouth.

Wondering if he’s gotten something on his face, Bucky rubs the back of his hand over his lips, and Steve jerks his head up, as though startled.

“You okay?” Bucky asks. He thinks something important has just passed between them, but he can’t for the life of him tell what.

“Fine,” says Steve, with a smile that doesn’t look quite right. “I’m on belay?”

Bucky suppresses a sigh. First, they have to get out of this mess. Then he can figure out what’s going on with Steve. “Belay is on.”

Watching Steve climb now, in the twilight in the rain, with Bucky responsible for his safety, doesn’t give Bucky any of the warm feelings from earlier. Instead, his chest is a cold knot of anxiety as he watches him clamber upward.

Steve moves with more caution now, although not as much as Bucky would have used, and it’s a relief when he reaches the first of his anchors, wedged into a horizontal crack above a little overhang. Now, at least, he’s got a buffer if he falls—but then he’s ascending once more, and Bucky has to let the line play out, and worry over each added foot of elevation as the distance increases between Steve and his protection.

Steve is a body-length above the second anchor when he slips.

Bucky doesn’t have time to think—he hears Steve’s shout, feels the sudden, terrifying slackness of the rope, and hauls in the rope like his life—like Steve’s life—depends on it.

Later, he will think about how if Steve had fallen the full six feet, he could have hit his head on the overhang. Later, he will shudder over the way the rock had broken off under Steve’s hand, how the wet stone had offered no purchase for Steve’s scrabbling fingers.

Now, in this moment, he only knows the terror that spears him from throat to belly, the feel of the slick rope under his fingers, and the way his hands seem to move of their own accord, taking up nearly six feet of rope in under a second.

Steve’s weight hits the rope, and Bucky just barely remembers to yank his hand up instead of down to brake the fall, and throws his weight back to counteract Steve’s.

He rises about a foot, but his own anchor stops him from going any further, and the line he’s taken in saves Steve from hitting the overhang. Instead, he falls a few feet below the second anchor, landing feet-first to absorb the blow.

For a moment, neither of them move; Bucky’s ears are ringing, his pulse pounding with adrenaline and shock. After a minute, he realizes that Sam is calling something, that Steve is shouting reassurance.

“…Bucky?”

Bucky shakes his head, and squints upward. It’s raining harder now, and the water gets into his eyes. “Steve?”

“I said I’m good now, you can give me a little slack.”

“Oh… yeah. Sorry.” Slowly, Bucky lowers his shaking hand, and lets a tiny bit of rope slide through the carabiner.

“You okay?” asks Steve.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” Bucky lies. He draws a shuddering breath. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m good. You did good there, Buck.”

Bucky is glad for the distance between them; it means he doesn’t have to muster a smile, and Steve can’t see the way he’s still trembling even as he tells him that he’s on belay, that Steve can keep climbing.

This time, Steve goes slower, and he makes it to the top with no more mishaps. Bucky can hear Sam scolding him for scaring him, and then a silence that probably means they’re kissing. He shivers. The rain pelts harder, running down his forehead and dripping down the back of his neck, and the expanse of rock above him looks endless.

“Rope!” Steve shouts, and the end of the rope comes slithering down beside him, the carabiner secured at the end of it. “Clip your backpack on!”

Bucky does so. “Haul it up!”

The end of the rope disappears. There’s a pause, then, “You’re on belay!” Steve shouts.

Bucky methodically ties his figure-eight, removes the anchors and clips them to his harness, and stands on wobbly legs. “Climbing!”

“Climb away!”

His progress upwards is achingly slow; he tests every handhold before putting weight on it, fumbling and slipping on the wet rock. He reaches the first anchor, clips it to his belt. _One foot in front of the other. Or… one hand above the other, I guess. Inch by Inch. Row by Row. Onward and upward. Any other clichés I can think of?_

His left arm aches, a sure sign that he’s overextended it. His grip on the left side feels weak; he doesn’t trust that arm to hold him. Gritting his teeth, he gets his feet a few inches higher, using his left hand to keep him in balance while he reaches for a hold with his right.

_Just keep moving. Almost there… almost there…_

“Almost there, Bucky. Just a few more feet.”

“Come on, man, you got this. Two moves and you’re up.”

Sam and Steve’s voices ring in his ears, but he doesn’t look at them, just concentrates on the rock, on moving his feet a few inches up, _balance with the left hand, pull up with the right_ ….

And then there are hands on his shoulders, under his arms, and Sam and Steve are bodily hauling him upward, over the guardrail and onto the road.

They land in a heap, laughing in a wild release of tension. Sam’s arm is around Bucky’s middle, Steve’s hands on his shoulders, and the euphoria of the moment overrides Bucky’s common sense; Steve’s face is _right there_ , so he leans forward and kisses him.

Steve makes a muffled “Mmph!” noise and falls over backward, pulling Bucky with him. Awareness crashes in abruptly, and Bucky jerks backward, horrified.

He just kissed Steve.

He just kissed Steve, _in front of Steve’s boyfriend,_ who is…

Laughing?

Sam is laughing, his shoulders shaking, his whole face scrunched up with mirth. “You—you—” he gasps. “The looks on your faces!”

“Sam,” says Bucky frantically. “Oh my god, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up,” Sam says, still grinning. “C’mere, you big doofus,” and he pulls Bucky in by the waist and cups his face with one hand, leaning in until their faces are only millimeters apart.

“May I?” he breathes against Bucky’s lips.

For a moment, Bucky is too startled to respond; then he realizes what Sam is asking. He doesn’t understand what is happening, how he could possibly have landed in this alternate dimension where Sam is okay with him kissing Steve; where Sam wants to kiss _him—_ but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Yes,” he says, and Sam closes the last tiny distance between them.

His lips are soft and warm, his hand steady on Bucky’s face. When Bucky opens his mouth, Sam presses in, eager yet somehow still gentle, and Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, melting into his touch.

They’re interrupted by Steve, who sits up (reminding Bucky that he’s still essentially sitting in Steve’s lap), and pulls Bucky backward, right up against his chest. “Excuse me,” he says huffily. “I didn’t even get to finish _my_ kiss. You can’t just go hogging him right outta the gate, Wilson.”

“You seemed a little busy lying in the dirt,” Sam retorts, but Steve doesn’t bother answering; he’s too busy maneuvering Bucky to face him, arms tight around Bucky’s back.

“I didn’t get to do it properly the first time,” he murmurs, his breath warm on Bucky’s skin. “Give me another chance?”

“I—yeah, if you want?” Bucky says, befuddled, and Steve swoops in.

He kisses just about how Bucky imagined he might, hot and demanding, nipping at Bucky’s lips and pressing in with his tongue, like he could devour him just like this. He kisses Bucky like he _wants_ him, like he might never get to kiss him again, and all Bucky can do is hold on, and hope against hope that this means something, that this is something real.

Steve breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against Bucky’s, panting. “You have no idea,” he says, “how long I’ve wanted this for.”

“You… have?” asks Bucky. “But—Sam?”

“Oh, Sam has wanted this too,” says Sam, almost a growl, and then his arm is back around Bucky’s waist, and he kisses Bucky’s neck, his throat, his cheek. “ _God_ , we’ve been trying to make this happen _forever_ , but you just—” he kisses him again—“wouldn’t—” another kiss—“take the hint.”

“But…” Bucky tilts his head back to look at him, completely bewildered. “But you and Steve…”

“Love each other very much,” Steve assures him, smirking. “Come on, Buck, haven’t you ever heard of polyamory?”

“I…” Sam kisses him again, and Bucky loses his train of thought for a second. “I mean, yeah, ‘cause, you know, I am, but I didn’t know you guys—why didn’t you _say_?”

“We didn’t know if you were interested,” Sam says. “We didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you weren’t.”

“But—what’s that?” They all fall silent. Without their own noise, the sound Bucky heard becomes apparent—the roar of an engine. There’s a car coming.

“Quick,” says Steve. “We can flag it down—ask where we are—”

They scramble to their feet, and Bucky can’t help laughing at the picture they must make, covered in dirt and soaking wet, hair sticking up in all directions and faces streaked with mud.

The car rounds the bend, and Bucky and Steve wave their arms, while Sam puts his hands out in the universal gesture for _stop._ At least, Bucky assumes it’s universal. At any rate, the car stops, and the man inside rolls down his window and leans out.

Steve approaches him, and Bucky notes with amusement that he’s still trailing the rope behind him.

“Excuse me, sir, I was wondering if you could give us directions to the nearest town?”

“Συγγνώμη, δεν μιλάω αγγλικά,”[1] says the man.

Steve visibly wilts. “Do you speak English?” he tries.

“Όχι, συγγνώμη.”[2]

That, at least, Bucky knows—“No” and “Sorry” are two of the few words he recognizes by sound.

“Shit,” Steve mutters, very softly. “Sam, do you have a map or something? Maybe we can point to it?”

“I just have the trail map, it doesn’t have any of the towns on it.”

“Crap. And the only thing I know how to say is, ‘Where’s the bathroom.’”

“Wait a second,” Bucky says suddenly. “I have an idea. Ask him to wait a sec.”

“In what language?” Steve snarks back, but he obligingly holds one finger up to the driver.

Bucky digs in the front pocket of his backpack—reading glasses, notebook, pencil—“Okay.”

He braces the notebook on his knee, and writes in painstaking Greek, _Good sir, knowest thou the way to any city near this place?_

He hands the notebook over to the man, who bursts out laughing, then gestures for the pencil.

“Bucky,” Steve hisses. “What did you do?”

“I can’t speak Greek,” Bucky explains, “but I can read and write _Classical_ Greek. Hopefully there’s enough overlap… _Thank you_ ,” he adds in Greek, as the man hands him back the notebook.

Bucky doesn’t recognize all of the words, but he can piece together the general meaning. “Uh… he says there’s no place near here. And asks if we’re lost.”

 _We met with misfortune in yonder valley,_ he writes back. _We came here from Heraklion._

The man looks them over and shakes his head, the amusement on his face now tempered with sympathy. _Come with me,_ he writes. _You can stay at my home for the night._

Bucky stares at him. _Verily? Thou art not in jest?_

The man laughs again. “ _Yes_ ,” he says aloud, pops the trunk, and gestures for the notebook so he can add, _I am not going to leave you out in the rain. Put your belongings in the back._

 _“Thank you_ ,” Bucky repeats, heartfelt, and turns quickly to the others. “He says he’ll give us a ride, we can stay at his place for the night. We can put our stuff in the trunk.”

“Seriously?” Sam says.

“Seriously.”

“Wow. _Thank you_ ,” he tells the man, who just smiles and waves in acknowledgement.

Bucky and Steve hurry to divest themselves of their harnesses, not bothering to coil the rope properly before throwing it in the trunk. “It’s gonna need washing, anyway,” says Steve.

They put their backpacks in too, shut the trunk, and pile into the car, where a blast of warm air greets them.

Bucky holds out his hand. “ _Hello_ ,” he says in Greek. “I’m Bucky.”

“Giorgos,” says the man. “χάρηκα για τη γνωριμία.”[3]

Bucky nods and smiles, and Giorgos shifts into gear.

[1] Sorry, I don’t speak English.

[2] No, sorry.

[3] Nice to meet you/pleased to meet you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trail that Sam, Steve, and Bucky take in this fic is fictional, but it’s loosely based on the Samaria Gorge.  
> Climbing Terms:  
> Anchors/protection: Pieces of equipment used to “anchor” someone to the cliff—these can be metal wedges (called chocks) wedged into a crack, bolts drilled into the rock, or slings wrapped around something sturdy (e.g. a tree or rock). The climber attaches either their harness or their rope to the anchor, to act as part of the belay system or to secure them from falling.  
> Belay device/ATC: a metal device which is clipped to the belayer’s harness, used to stop or slow a climber’s fall  
> Carabiner/biner: a metal loop with a locking gate, used in climbing to set up pulley/belay systems and clip items to a climber’s harness.  
> Figure eight: A type of knot, used to secure a rope that has been looped through a carabiner  
> Friend(s): A type of spring-loaded chock, which is easier to wedge into a crack than traditional chocks.  
> Munter hitch: a type of knot used as an alternative to a belay device.  
> Sling: A woven strap, usually made of nylon, which can either be a loop or a long or short length, used to clip or tie things to other things (for example, to connect an anchor to a harness).


	4. Safety

*********************

[ ](https://images2.imgbox.com/da/6b/V5sDFLLL_o.png)

*********************

They pull up to a pretty white house with the arched windows and red roof that are so popular on the island, nestled into the hillside and sheltered by cypress trees. On the other side of the road, the ground drops steeply away, and Bucky catches a glimpse of narrow fields and olive groves, and beyond them, the Mediterranean, grey-blue and wreathed in fog beneath the steady rain. He inhales the twin fragrances of cypress and petrichor, and feels his shoulders relax for the first time since they saw the landslide.

Whatever happens next, at least they’re safe.

“You okay, Bucky?” Steve asks from behind him, and he rouses himself from reverie.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Then let’s get in the house, before we get soaked.” Steve pauses, looking down at himself. “Well, even _more_ soaked.”

“Right, yeah.” Bucky grabs his pack from the car, and all three of them follow Giorgos up to the house.

The front door opens into a small foyer, where Giorgos gestures for them to take off their shoes. He then leads them into the living room, which connects to the kitchen via an open archway.

A woman with greying dark hair approaches them, looking understandably surprised. She and Giorgos have a rapid conversation, during which her look of surprise morphs to one of incredulity, and then outright laughter.

Giorgos steps aside, pointing to each of them in turn. “Steve. Sam. Bucky.”

“Eleni,” she says.

They all say their clumsy hellos, then Bucky hands her his notebook, in which he’s written, _Greetings, madam. Our thanks for thy gracious hospitality._

Eleni reads the message and laughs. Her reply is a little difficult to read, but Bucky picks out enough words to realize she’s asking him why he’s writing instead of speaking, and why _Ancient_ Greek.

He explains as best he can, since “assistant librarian at NYU” is not exactly a term he’s had to translate much.

“What’s going on, Buck?” Steve asks.

“Uh… Explaining why my Greek is weird.”

“Oh. Do they have WiFi? We could use Google Translate.”

Before he can answer, Giorgos takes the notepad to ask, _Do you have dry clothing to change into?_

“ _No,_ ” Bucky answers aloud.

_I will find something for you._

“ _Thank you_ ,” Bucky says, for what feels like the hundredth time that day.

“ _You’re welcome_.” He hands the notebook back to Eleni, and disappears through a doorway off the living room.

 _I’ll show you the guest room,_ Eleni writes, and beckons them through the same doorway, which turns out to lead to a short hallway and staircase.

They follow her up the stairs to a comfortable bedroom with warm yellow walls, large, arched windows, and a queen-sized bed.

 _There is only one bed,_ she writes. _But I can put blankets on the floor._

“Tell her not to worry about that,” says Steve. “We can squeeze in.”

Bucky translates this without thinking about anything beyond which words to use, and doesn’t realize his mistake until Eleni’s eyebrows go up and she gives them a sudden, calculating look. That’s when he realizes that he’s just told her that the three of them are happy to share a bed.

Anxiety spikes through him; he’d be worried about coming out to a complete stranger anyway, but his experiences of Greek attitudes toward queerness pretty much consist of Steve's climbing friends, some of whom are queer themselves, and the argument Steve had gotten into with two bartenders over whether gay people are “unnatural” or not a few days ago. Bucky has no idea what to expect now, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that if Eleni and Giorgos kick them out right now, they’re only marginally better off than they were on the roadside above the gorge.

 _Are the three of you together?_ she asks.

He swallows, then writes, _We are traveling together._

_I mean, are you lovers._

Bucky stares at the notepad, wondering if he should just lie—it wouldn’t even be _much_ of a lie; the three of them _aren’t_ lovers, even if he’d like them to be. Even if it seems like—

“What did she say?” Sam asks.

“She asked if we’re lovers.”

There’s a short, loaded pause. Then Sam says quietly, “Tell her yes. We’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s probably obvious by now anyway, since you didn’t just say ‘no.’”

Bucky nods, throat tight, and writes a simple, _Yes._

Eleni smiles and pats him on the shoulder before replying. _It’s okay. My daughter is lesbian. You’re welcome here._

The rush of relief leaves Bucky dizzy. “ _Thank you_ ,” he says, heartfelt. “ _Thank you._ ”

“What did she say?” Steve demands.

Bucky lets out a breath. “She said it’s okay. It’s okay.”

He can see the relief in their postures, in the grins they both give Eleni in the absence of words. All three of them know just enough Greek to repeat Bucky’s thanks, which she brushes off with a smile and another pat on Sam’s shoulder.

Giorgos returns with clothes for them; his sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt fit Bucky just fine, but the pants are a little tight on Sam, and about six inches too short on Steve, the t-shirt stretching obscenely across his chest. Bucky can’t say he minds the view, and it’s clear from his smirk that Sam is of the same mind.

When the three of them go back downstairs, having showered and changed into their borrowed clothes, Eleni wolf-whistles, and Giorgos pretends to be scandalized—at least, until she gives him a kiss.

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly—they help Eleni with dinner, and Giorgos with the dishes, using Google Translate and hand gestures to communicate. Eleni and Giorgos attempt to teach them Greek, make fun of their accents, and roar with laughter at Bucky’s atrocious pronunciation after they’ve bullied him into speaking Classical Greek aloud.

Still, there’s a little bit of tension that Bucky can’t let go of; he doesn’t know exactly how Steve and Sam feel about him, or whether they’re interested in the same things. They had said they’ve wanted him for a long time, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they want a _relationship_ with him—and even if they do, he doesn’t know what _kind_ of relationship they’d want. How would their dynamic change, if it changes at all? Bucky loves them, but he doesn’t want to be third wheel in a romantic relationship.

As the evening winds to a close, his anxiety ratchets up; he can feel himself withdrawing, getting quieter. He watches Steve’s fumbling attempts to ask Giorgos for contact lens solution, and can only wonder how long he gets to have this; whether this will be the thing that finally drives them apart, instead of drawing them closer together.

If they only want something casual—if they don’t love him the way he does them—he doesn’t know if he can bear it. If they only want him superficially, he thinks, it will be worse than if they didn’t want him at all.

Finally, they say their goodnights and make their way to the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

For a long moment, they all just look at each other, suddenly awkward.

“So,” says Sam.

“So,” Bucky echoes. He sits down on the bed, keeping his gaze firmly on the ground; he can’t bring himself to look at their faces. “So… what now?”

“I feel like we should be asking you that,” says Steve. “Are you—you kissed me. Us. Both of us.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he says defensively. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“But you meant it, right?” Sam’s voice is uncharacteristically nervous; Bucky hears him move closer, but doesn’t look up. “You don’t—regret it?”

“I meant it,” says Bucky joylessly. He takes a deep breath. “Look, I—I can’t do casual. Not with you. So I need to know if this is… what this is, for you. If it’s—if it’s just sex, or whatever—”

“Bucky, no,” says Steve, and then he’s kneeling in front of Bucky, hands on Bucky’s knees, earnest gaze fixed on him. “We love you—we both love you. You _know_ that. And we’ve been in love with you for ages—I was in love with you before I met Sam, and he knew when we started dating, and then—”

“And then somehow I fell for you, too,” Sam interrupts. “God only knows how.”

“Fuck you, I’m a gift,” retorts Bucky, but he feels a million times lighter. He finally looks up, and is floored by the fondness—the _love_ — he sees in both of their eyes. “Really? That long?”

“That long,” Steve says, and squeezes his hand.

Bucky laughs in sheer astonishment. “I can’t believe it. All this time, I’ve been pining for you, and you…”

“We kept trying to make moves on you,” says Sam, “But you just ignored it. We thought you weren’t interested.”

“I didn’t want to be a—a homewrecker. I told myself I was imagining it. Wishful thinking.”

“You’re such a dumbass,” says Steve, beaming. “Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Steve rises to his feet, then leans in with one hand on the bed, next to Bucky’s hip. He brushes his lips over Bucky’s, once, twice, a third time, until Bucky grows impatient and pulls him closer, opening his mouth in invitation. With a soft little moan, Steve goes deeper, savoring him as though Bucky is some delicious treat he wants to last longer. Bucky certainly wants to savor _him_ ; he could go the rest of his life with the taste of Steve on his tongue.

The moment spools out like honey, slow and warm, Bucky’s hand on the back of Steve’s neck, Steve’s fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair. Steve keeps pushing him, leaning in by degrees, until finally Bucky allows himself to be borne down onto the bed, and Steve lands on top of him with a self-satisfied smirk.

“So this was your plan,” Bucky says breathlessly. “You just wanted me on my back.”

“Oh no,” murmurs Steve, brushing his nose against Bucky’s. “You’ve discovered my wicked plot.”

“Is this the part where I rescue you?” Sam inquires, appearing in Bucky’s periphery. “’Cause I’m not letting Dr. Evil over there hog you all night.”

“I can share,” Steve protests. He kisses Bucky again, then shifts over a few scant inches, so that he’s not _entirely_ covering Bucky’s body. “See? Plenty of room.”

“Play nice, boys,” says Bucky drily.

Sam grins, leaning down so that his lips brush Bucky’s ear. “You sure that’s what you want, Buck?” he purrs, and Bucky shivers.

“I,” he starts, and then stalls out, overwhelmed with images of exactly how Steve and Sam could wreck him.

“Let’s get all the way onto the bed, hmm?” Sam says, running his fingers over Bucky’s cheek.

“Good idea.” Steve sits up, wetting his lips in a way that’s entirely too distracting. “More room to… stretch out.”

“Stretch out,” Bucky repeats weakly; then his brain catches up, and he scrambles further up the bed.

“In the middle,” Sam directs him. “If you’re okay with that.”

Bucky’s breath catches, thrilled once again by the fact that they _want_ him, that they _both_ want him, that he’s not just on the outside looking in. He’s never been the center—literally—of both their attention before, and it feels unexpectedly wonderful to be the sole object of their focus. He knows it probably can’t last, but for now, he’s going to bask in it.

He flops down in the center of the bed, with his head on the pillow, and Steve lies down on his right, Sam on his left, their arms crossing over his torso.

“Hi,” Steve whispers, and Bucky laughs.

“You’re such a doofus.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Hey, I’ve got a Master’s degree, I’ll have you know.”

“Nerd.”

“Jock.”

“Sam, shut him up.”

“My pleasure,” says Sam, and presses his lips to Bucky’s.

It seems like the two of them are in competition to drive Bucky crazy; they kiss his lips and mouth at his throat, their bodies rubbing distractingly against his, hands wandering over his clothing, drawing sparks wherever they land. Bucky reciprocates as best he can, but he’s overwhelmed by so much attention, and still dazed at his own good luck. The other two don’t seem to mind taking the lead, and for now, he’s happy to let them.

“Can I push your shirt up?” Sam asks, and Bucky blinks, surprised, because… most people don’t ask. And if they do, they don’t usually like the answer.

“Yeah,” he says cautiously. “But I don’t want it all the way off.”

“Okay,” says Sam. “Anything else we should avoid?”

And Bucky…. Okay, Bucky probably should have known that Sam and Steve would be different, but… most of his previous lovers took it as an insult that he didn’t want to show them his arm, thinking it meant that he didn’t _trust_ them with his scars, that he couldn’t be vulnerable with them. They never seemed to get that it wasn’t about that—that Bucky isn’t comfortable with _anyone_ seeing that part of him, even him. He doesn’t need someone to kiss it better, or to tell him it’s beautiful or a symbol of strength or something; he just wants to be able to not think about it, and he can’t _avoid_ thinking about it if his shirt is off.

“Just like, don’t try and feel up my arm or shoulder?” It sounds stupid, but people have literally done that before, sneaking their hands under his shirt when he didn’t want to uncover himself. “It’s fine if you touch it, I just—don’t want tons of attention in that area.”

“Okay,” Sam repeats, and brushes a kiss against his lips. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“That might not change,” Bucky blurts out, before he can think better of it. _God_ , this is stupid, he’s laid out on the bed with his two favorite people in the world trying to make out with him, and he’s already borrowing trouble. “I don’t know if I’m ever—if I’ll ever be okay with that, and it’s not _you_ , it’s not about trust, I just—”

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, voice warm and soothing, and strokes Bucky’s hair. “Hey, you don’t ever have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Buck. We love you.” He kisses Bucky’s temple, then his cheek. “We’re in this together, huh? To the end of the line.”

“Just say you’re ours,” Sam says, and his eyes are dark and intent, and fiercely possessive. “That’s enough, that’s always gonna be enough—”

Bucky manages a laugh, reaching out to cup Sam’s cheek, to run a thumb over his cheekbone, over his lips. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’ve been yours for years. I’m not gonna stop now.”

“ _God_ ,” Steve groans, kissing him deeply, while Sam hooks his leg over Bucky’s and draws him closer, the two of them wrapping him up in their combined embrace.

Bucky is completely overwhelmed. He’s wanted this for so long, and now that he has it, he can’t quite comprehend that it’s really happening. But the evidence of his senses can’t be denied; Steve’s bulk on his right, broad shoulders and narrow hips, his mouth hot and wet on Bucky’s, the clean, slightly spicy scent of him, obvious even beneath the smell of the citrus soap they’d borrowed; Sam’s lighter frame half-covering him, one hand almost absent-mindedly smoothing over Bucky’s abs as he presses sweet, open-mouthed kisses to the column of Bucky’s throat.

“And we’re yours,” Steve says, drawing back a little. “In case you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” says Bucky, a little too raw, a little too honest. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. You guys already have each other.”

“And we both love you,” says Sam. He scooches a little further up Bucky’s body, propping himself up on his elbow to look into Bucky’s face. “Listen, Steve and I were good on our own, right? We weren’t incomplete, we’re not looking for someone to fix our dynamic, that’s not what this is about. But… with you, we can be _more_. The three of us… we’re good together, sweetheart. We’re good for each other. We’ve loved you for ages, and we want you to be a part of us, as long as you want.”

“This isn’t gonna be two against one, Buck,” Steve murmurs. “If we’re gonna be together, it’s gonna be all three of us. Not me and Sam making rules and you following ‘em. We’ll have to talk out how we work this, but you’re not gonna be our unicorn. That’s not what we want.”

“You…” Bucky feels unexpectedly choked-up; tears spring to his eyes, and he tightens his grip around their waists, drawing them closer. “You’ve really thought about this, huh?”

“Sweetheart,” says Steve warmly, “of course we have.”

He has to close his eyes for a moment, just… letting that soak in, the knowledge that this means as much to them as it does to him. That his days of being on the outside are over.

“You okay, babe?” Sam asks, smoothing his hand along Bucky’s ribs.

Bucky shivers, skin tingling at the light touch. “I’m good,” he says, and opens his eyes. Steve and Sam look back at him, the joy and wonder in their eyes matching his own. “It’s just… a lot. Like getting every present you wanted for your birthday, except it’s not even your birthday. And this is better.”

Then something occurs to him. “Hey, so were you just planning to fly me to Greece and hope something happened?

Steve turns red, ducking his head. “More or less. We thought, if we spent some time just the three of us, with no disasters, maybe we could gauge whether you were interested.”

“I guess the ‘no disasters’ part didn’t really work out,” says Sam ruefully.

Bucky snorts, then breaks out into full-on peals of laughter, the absolute madness of the day finally catching up to him. “Oh man,” he wheezes, wiping his eyes with the hand not currently wrapped around Sam’s waist. “Oh God, you’re right. I didn’t even think about it. And to think… we almost got through… with nothing crazy happening…” He breaks down laughing again.

“We tried,” Steve says, laughing too. “We really thought this would be a nice, quiet holiday—”

“Shame on you, thinking any holiday involving the three of us could be _quiet_ …”

“Yeah, the landslide wasn’t really part of the plan.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear you didn’t rig that up out of desperation,” Bucky jokes. “Engineer a near-death experience, just so I’d have to confess my feelings.”

“That was pretty much the opposite of what we were going for,” says Sam. His voice grows a little more serious. “We wanted this to be perfect, so you’d give us a chance.”

Smiling, Bucky strokes first his cheek, then Steve’s. “It was perfect,” he says sincerely. “It _is_ perfect. It got us here, didn’t it? And hey—at least we’ll have a _great_ getting-together story to tell.”

Steve laughs. “Well, at least you know what you’re getting into.”

“Eyes wide open,” Bucky agrees.

And that’s the thing—for once, he _does_ know what he’s getting into. He knows Steve and Sam, is all too familiar with all their flaws and virtues, their interests and hobbies, what makes them laugh, what makes them tick. And now, he gets to explore new territories with them, discover even more.

It will be an adventure, and that’s just perfect. As it turns out, Bucky has a taste for adventures after all.

*********************

[ ](https://imgbox.com/CoNe0iUR)

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s argument with the homophobic bartenders is based on an experience I had while in Crete.

**Author's Note:**

> Climbing terms:  
> 5.10, 5.11, etc: a system for rating the difficulty of various climbing routes, also known as the Yosemite Decimal System. Technical climbs range from 5.0 (the easiest) to 5.15 (the hardest climbs in the world). After 5.10, the climbs have a letter range from a to d as well as a number range, i.e. 5.10a, 5.10b, etc.  
> Anchors/protection: Pieces of equipment used to “anchor” someone to the cliff—these can be metal wedges (called chocks) wedged into a crack, bolts drilled into the rock, or slings wrapped around something sturdy (e.g. a tree or rock). The climber attaches either their harness or their rope to the anchor, to act as part of the belay system or to secure them from falling.  
> Belay: a rope and pulley system used to keep a climber safe from falling  
> Belay device/ATC: a metal device which is clipped to the belayer’s harness, used to stop or slow a climber’s fall  
> Carabiner/biner: a metal loop with a locking gate, used in climbing to set up pulley/belay systems and clip items to a climber’s harness.  
> Figure eight: A type of knot, used to secure a rope that has been looped through a carabiner  
> Friend(s): A type of spring-loaded chock, which is easier to wedge into a crack than traditional chocks.  
> Mantle: A somewhat difficult climbing move in which the climber presses their hands down on a ledge to push themselves over the top of an overhang.  
> Munter hitch: a type of knot used as an alternative to a belay device.  
> Sling: A woven strap, usually made of nylon, which can either be a loop or a long or short length, used to clip or tie things to other things (for example, to connect an anchor to a harness).


End file.
